


Smiles of plated gold

by Resamille



Series: VLD Whump Week 2017 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dark Shiro (Voltron), Fever, Gen, Injury, Kuro(n), S3 compliant, Voltron Whump Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: It starts as a chill down his spine, unrelenting.





	Smiles of plated gold

**Author's Note:**

> HI I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING I WROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE EDITING MY GEN BB SHIT AND RUNNING TWO BANGS. WHY AM I DOING THIS.
> 
> This is for Day 1 of Voltron Whump Week 2017. The prompt is "Fever."
> 
> Anyway. Title from Wolf in Sheep's Clothing by Set It Off
> 
> Also I didn't proof any of this shit so like. Bear with me I'm dying but that's not an excuse because i've been dying for 7395734 years anyway so hsdkfhsb JUST TAKE IT SOBS

It starts as a chill down his spine, unrelenting.

Keith ignores it. Instead, he pauses the simulator to wipe the sweat from his brow, pushing back his bangs, and keeps training. It doesn't matter that the cold is making him shiver and his limbs lock up. All that matters is he has to be better, now that the weight of leading Voltron sits on his shoulders.

There's an ache settling into his muscles, the mark of a good day of training, but it far sooner than Keith would have expected. Has he been here longer than he thought? Perhaps. It wouldn't be the first time Keith loses track of time. Panting, he starts the simulation again.

The gladiator stands before him for a heartbeat before charging. Keith sidesteps and slashes out with his bayard, but the gladiator dances away. Keith frowns. He _had_ been getting better at this, so why is the gladiator so difficult now? Falling back into a more steady stance, Keith readies for the next attack.

The gladiator comes at him again, staff sweeping out. And Keith dodges again, except—he doesn't. The staff clips his ankle and throws off his balance, and Keith stumbles, going down hard to the training room floor. Pain blossoms between his temples, a foreign burn. Keith scrambles to right himself before the gladiator pins him. He manages to get his legs under him, but standing seems... So difficult...

What the fuck.

Keith isn't _weak_. What the fuck is wrong with him. A soft growl rumbles through him, and he forces himself to his feet, only to fall back down when a dizzy spell slams into him. Keith gasps for breath as his back hits the ground, and he hears the gladiator's footsteps approach, ready for a killing blow.

Keith rolls away, unintentionally letting out a groan, and is hit with a wave of nausea. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself for the oncoming hit of the gladiator's staff.

It never comes.

Slowly, Keith lets his tensed muscles relax. The floor is uncomfortable, but the idea of moving is so disagreeable to his entire body that he can't muster up the energy. Eventually, Keith comes to grip with the fact that _something_ is wrong. Tiredly, movements stilted, he throws his arm up, and presses his hand against his neck. He's not perfectly sure, but even with the flush of training, his skin shouldn't be _that_ hot.

So he's sick. He can deal. Maybe the pods can fix this. If only he could convince himself to get up and get in one.

But suffering on the floor is such a far more appealing thought.

So Keith lays there, trying to simply breathe through the dull pain and gross feeling. Someone will come check on him eventually, right? Hell, who is he kidding, he monopolizes the training room all the time and the others have learned not to bother him. It'll be hours before anyone comes to get him.

With a vaguely annoyed groan, Keith opens his eyes, squinting up at the bright lights of the training room. He really hopes the Castle is going through a rough patch, and the room is actually moving, because everything's a little shaky even though he's lying flat on the ground. Those chances are pretty low, though, considering last Keith knew they were docked on a planet.

Forcing his limbs to cooperate, Keith pushes himself up onto his hands. He has to stop once he's sitting up to squeeze his eyes shut and fight off another wave of nausea. He is _not_ going to throw up in the training room. Nope. Nopenopenope.

“Hey.”

Keith finds himself squinting up at Shiro.

“Not looking so good,” Shiro observes.

“Nope,” Keith bites out.

Shiro holds out a hand towards him, and in a rare admission of weakness that he often only allows around Shiro, Keith reaches for it.

Shiro hauls him to his feet, and Keith stumbles up. He ends up leaning heavily on Shiro, much to Shiro's surprise.

“Wow, you're really out of it, huh?” Shiro asks.

“Sick,” Keith supplies tersely. Then, after a few moments of catching his breath. “Or something.”

“Or something,” Shiro echoes. “We should ask Allura what's the best thing to do.”

“Pod,” Keith states.

“Will that work?” Shiro asks.

Keith attempts to shrug, but he's squishes against Shiro, so he's not sure how clear the action followed through. Shiro rubs his Galra hand over Keith's upper arm soothingly.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “Can't hurt, I suppose.”

Keith nods.

 _This can_.

Keith blinks blearily at Shiro, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out where the words came from. “Did you—” he manages, before Shiro's hand clasps over his mouth.

Keith's instinct is to break away, shout _what the fuck_. Except with his body overheating, he doesn't have the strength or wit to push Shiro away. Instead, he scrabbles weakly at Shiro's arm, trying to pull it away.

“It's so fun,” Shiro murmurs. “Watching you play pretend like you're actually in charge.”

 _It's what you wanted!_ Keith wants to protest, but Shiro's hand over his mouth is too firm. The grip on his shoulder that was once comforting turns painful, Galra metal digging into Keith's arm.

Keith makes a noise in the back of his throat, some cry for help and pure reaction. Shiro's hand squeezes tighter, cutting of circulation and Keith starts to panic, kicking at Shiro's legs.

“Stop that,” Shiro scolds. He removes the hand over Keith's mouth to grab his other arm and lift him off the ground. He repositions Keith so that his arms are caught in Shiro's human hand and the Galra one sits on Keith's side, glowing and ready to burn into Keith's skin.

Keith swallows, once, head swimming, and then screams.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Shiro growls, digging his fingers into Keith's side, pain lacing up Keith's side where fire erupts on his skin from five pinpoints. “It's time we put you somewhere the others won't notice.”

“They'll...” Keith croaks. “Come for me.”

“Will they? You ran away, once. Would it be so difficult to believe that the weight of being a leader was too much? That you fled the responsibility? That's what you _always_ do, isn't it?”

Keith chokes on a sob. He's talking about the Garrison, about the one guilt Keith has always had, that he let Shiro down. What the fuck is happening. “Shiro—” he gasps out, voice laced with pain. “Shiro, why—”

“Leader?” Shiro mocks, ignoring him. “You didn't even notice when I drugged your food this morning.”

Keith feels betrayal stab through his body. Or maybe that's the pain of Shiro's Galra arm. He's not entirely sure. The colors of the room are bleeding together, and Shiro's the only thing keeping him up at this point.

“Shiro—I don't—what did they... You've got to be in there somewhere,” Keith cries, though his voice is weak, words slurred together.

Shiro makes a contemplative noise, a little hum that Keith can feel against his back. Soothing, almost, if Keith weren't almost hyperventilating and possibly dying. “No, I don't think I am,” he says, saccharine. “Now, I think it's time... How about a trip in space, hmm? An escape pod? I'm sure you won't mind if I damage the oxygen tanks before I send you out, right? Don't worry, I hear that's a very peaceful death. You should thank me.”

“S-Shiro—” Keith chokes out, and then Shiro's Galra hand slides up to the back of his neck, squeezing too tight, too tight, and everything goes black.

 

When Keith wakes up, he's stumbling out of a pod, shaking and gasping.

“Whoa, whoa,” Hunk says, steadying him. “You okay, man?”

“Shiro—” Keith manages, voice hoarse and breathless.

“Yeah, Shiro,” Hunk says. “I know. You were like... Delirious when I found you in the training room. Is there something you need to tell him? You kept saying his name.”

Keith clutches at Hunk's shoulders. “W-what?”

“I think you were mad hallucinating,” Hunk explains. “You had a super high fever, too. Allura says the pod should fix it, but maybe take it easy on the training for a while, yeah? That definitely didn't help your body temperature.”

“I don't—Shiro... He wasn't there?”

“Nope,” Hunk says. “Just you. On the floor. Kinda unconscious.”

“He's here now though.”

Keith turns in Hunk's grip to see Shiro leaning in the doorway of the medbay.

“You okay, Keith?” Shiro asks, voice pitched with concern.

Keith swallows hard. “I'm... Fine. Now.”

“That's good,” Shiro says, smile bright. “Wouldn't want the head of Voltron out of commission, would we?”

This time, Keith doesn't think he's hallucinating the yellow glint in Shiro's eyes.

 


End file.
